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Sportsman (who has given a mount to a Nervous Friend). "LET HER HEAD GO! LET HER GO, MAN! SHE'LL BE A REGULAR WILD

"THE JUDGMENT OF 'PARISH.'" (A very long way after the late Laureate's Version.)

[On December 4, every rural parish will, for the first time, "assemble for the purpose of managing, in some organised and systematic way, its own affairs."-Daily News.

"He invited them to choose men, and women
too, who they believed would manage their parish
affairs best... If the leading landowner de-
sired to have a large influence in parish affairs,
and if he were a fit man, by all means give
him the power; but if he was not a fit man, put
(Laughter and
in the agricultural labourer."
cheers.)-Lord Ripon at Newbury.]
Spirit of the Good Old Times lamenteth :-
PICTURESQUE Parish, thankless-hearted
Parish,

Holding a pippin big as a pine-apple,
Came up upon the fourth to judge and vote.
Fronting the dawn he moved; his Sunday

smock

Draping his shoulders, and his sun-burnt hair

Clustered about his forehead, freshly oiled;
And his cheek brighten'd as a cheek will
brighten

After brisk towel friction; and my heart
Misgave me as to what might be his game.
He smiled. and opening out his horny palm,
Showed me the fruit of long, fierce party
fight.

The Power-Pippin, and what time I look'd,
And listen d, his full-flowing river of speech
Came heavy on my heart.
"Wha' cheer old 'Ooman!
Old frump o' the Old Times as fules ca'd good,
Just twig this fruit! It's gotten to be given
To the most fit. At present thof, 'tis mine,
Ard I'll consider ere I pairt wi' un!"

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Lammas!

Squoire will look on as red as any fox,
An' as fur Passon's missus,-grutherem-
grouts!

Wunt she fume foinely?

Ye'd best stand asoide;
Hide your old-farrant face behind yon ellum,
Hear all, and see your Parish judge the nobs!"
'Twas as he said. To woo his voice they came,
Humble they came to that smooth rustic
sward,

And at their feet the daisies seemed to droop
At the un-English, strange, new-fangledness
Of such a notion as for Church, and Land,
And Trade to "tuck their tuppennies in" to
-what?

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Those dashed Rad agitators to upset
And you will find me fittest. But allow
Our old relations, fill your mind with fudge
Concerning healthier homes and higher wage
And it's all up with England, Me and You!
Tip me the Pippin!"
Parish cocked a snook,

And held the apple tighter.

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As for him,
The sleek mild grocer, Parish shut him up
Almost 'ere he had spoken. "I promise thee
A good cheap article and lots of tick-
But Parish said, "Talk not to me of tick!
I shall not need'un wi my whacking wage,
And overflowing revenue'; new cottage,
Fools to Parish make Allotment patch, three acres and a coo,
Proffer of plenteous power, ample rule And a' the rest o''t. As for this here Pippin,
Unquestion'd, overflowing revenue
I've grupped at last, 'tis mine, an' I dunno
Wherewith to embellish village state and As I won't have first bile at 'un mysel'!"

This rustic Parish, once their humble slave
Now their authoritative arbiter,
And chuckling critic.

make
The rustic home a rural paradise.
What tommy-rot it is!

So "Passon" says
(In sleeker language, be it understood),
But offers him fair creeds and catechisms.

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He spoke and laughed. I shut my eyes in fear,
But when I look'd, Parish had raised his hand.
And 1 beheld thè Parson's angry eyes,
The Farmer's furious glance, and, weazel-like,
The glittering of the Grocer-man's amaze.

LYRE AND LANCET.

(A Story in Scenes.)

PART XXIII.-SHRINKAGE.
SCENE XXXIII.-The Yew Walk.

Lady Maisie (to herself, as she watches UNDERSHELL approaching). How badly he walks, and what does he mean by smiling at me like that? (Aloud, coldly.) I am sorry, Mr. BLAIR, but I must leave you to finish your stroll alone; my maid has just told me

Undershell (vehemently). Lady MAISIE, I ask you, in common fairness, not to iudge me until you have heard my version. You will not allow the fact that I'travelled down here in the same compartment with your maid, PHILLIPSON

Lady Maisie (wide-eyed). The same! But we came by that train. I thought you missed it?

Und. I-I was not so fortunate. It' is rather a long and complicated story, but

Lady Maisie. I'm afraid I really can't listen to you now, Mr. BLAIR, after what I have heard from PHILLIPSON

Und. I implore you not to go without hearing both sides. Sit down again-if only for a minute. I feel confident that I can explain everything satisfactorily.

Lady Maisie (sitting down). I can't imagine what there is to explain-and really I ought, if PHILLIPSON

Und. You know what' maids are, Lady MAISIE. They embroider. Unintentionally, I daresay, but still, they do embroider. Lady Maisie (puzzled). She is very clever at mending lace, I know, though what that has to do with it

Und. Listen to me, Lady MAISIE. I came to this house at your bidding. Yes, but for your written appeal, I should have treated the invitation I received from your Aunt with silent contempt. Had I obeyed my first impulse and ignored it, I should have been spared humiliations and indignities which ought rather to excite your pity than-than any other sensation. Think-try to realise what my feelings must have been when I found myself expected by the butler here to sit down to supper with him and the upper servants in the Housekeeper's Room!

Lady Maisie (shocked). Oh, Mr. BLAIR! Indeed, I had no

You weren't really! How could they? What did you say? Und. (haughtily). I believe 1 let him know my opinion of the snobbery of his employers in treating a guest of theirs so cavalierly.

Lady Maisie. Can I? That you should have consented, for any consideration whatever; how could you-how could you?

Und. (to himself). She admires me all the more for it. But I knew she would take the right view! (Aloud, with pathos.) I was only compelled by absolute starvation. I had had an unusually light lunch, and I was so hungry!

Lady Maisie (after a pause). That explains it, of course.... I hope they gave you a good supper!

Und. Excellent, thank you. Indeed, I was astonished at the variety and even luxury of the table. There was a pyramid of quails

Lady Maisie. I am pleased to hear it. But I thought there was something you were going to explain.

Und. I have been endeavouring to explain to the best of my ability that if I have undesignedly been the cause of-er-a tem

"How very sweet of you, Mr. Blair. Are they really for me?"

Lady Maisie (distressed). But surely surely you couldn't suppose that my Uncle and Aunt were capable of—

Und. What else could I suppose under the circumstances? It is true I have since learnt that I was mistaken in this particular instance; but I am not ignorant of the ingrained contempt you Aristocrats have for all' who live by exercising their intellect-the bitter scorn of Birth for Brains!

Lady Marsie. I am afraid the the contempt is all on the other side; but if that is how you feel about it, I don't wonder that you were indignant.

Und. Indignant! I was furious. In fact, nothing would have induced me to sit down to supper at all, if it hadn't been for

Lady Maisie (in a small voice). Then, you did sit down? With the servants! Oh, Mr. BLAIR!

Und. I thought you were already aware of it. Yes, Lady MAISIE, endured even that. But (with magnanimity) you must not distress yourself about it now. If I can forget it, surely you! can do so!

porary diversion in the state of Miss PHILLIPSON's affections, no one could regret more deeply than I that the-er-ordinary amenities of the supper-table should have been mistaken for

Lady Maisie (horrified). Oh, stop Mr. BLAIR, please stop! I don't want to hear any more. I see now. It was you who

Und. Of course it was I. Surely the girl herself has been telling you so just now!

Lady Maisie. You really thought that possible, too? She simply came with a message from my mother.

Und. (slightly disconcerted). Oh! If I had known it was merely that. However, I am sure I need not ask you to treat my-my communication in the strictest confidence, Lady MAISIE.

Lady Maisie. Indeed, that is perfectly unnecessary, Mr. BLAIR.

Und. Yes, I felt from the first that I could trust youeven with my life. And I cannot regret having told you, if it has enabled you to understand me more thoroughly. It is such a relief that you know all, and that there are no more secrets between us. You do feel that I only acted as was natural and inevitable under the circumstances ?

Lady Maisie. Oh, yes, yes. I-I daresay you could not help it. I mean you did quite, quite right!

Und. Ah, how' you comfort me with your fresh girlishYou are not going, Lady MAISIE? Lady Maisie (rising). I must. I ought to have gone before. My mother wants me. No, you are not to come too; you can go on and gather those snowdrops, you know.

[She walks slowly back to the house. Und. (looking after her). She took it wonderfully well. I've made it all right, or she wouldn't have said that about the snowdrops. Yes, she shall not be disappointed; she shall have her posy!

SCENE XXXIV.—The Morning Room. Half an hour later. Lady Maisie (alone—to herself). Thank Goodness, that's over! It was awful. I don't think I ever saw Mamma a deeper shade of plum colour! How I have been mistaken in Mr. BLAIR! That he could write those lines:

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'Aspiring unto that far-off Ideal,

How should I stoop to any meaner love?" and yet philander with my poor foolish PHILLIPSON the moment he met her! And then to tell Mamma about my letter like that! Why, even Mr. SPURRELL had more discretion-to be sure, he knew nothing about it-but that makes no difference! RHODA was right; I ought to have allowed a margin; only I should never have

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allowed enough! The worst of it is that, if Mamma was unjust in of the highest peaks of the Rocky Mountains; the discovery of the some things she said, she was right about one. I have disgusted pipe-stem when digging round the snow-submerged site of a hut in GERALD. He mayn't be brilliant, but at least he's straight-the mountains, a discovery which, carefully followed up, brought to forward and loyal and a gentleman, and-and he did like me once. light "the whiteish-grey fingers of the dead man closely clutching He doesn't any more, or he wouldn't have gone away. And it may the bowl of the pipe"; the account of the revolt in the streets of the be ages before I ever get a chance to let him see how dreadfully city of Mexico; and the story of the coach party robbed by bandits (She turns, and sees Captain THICKNESSE.) Oh, haven't

sorry

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Capt. Thick, Ran it a bit too fine; got to Shuntin' bridge just in time to see the tail end of the train disappearin'; wasn't another for hours-not much to do there, don't you know.

Lady Maisie. You might have taken a walk-or gone to Church. Capt. Thick. So I might, didn't occur to me; and besides, I-I remembered I never said good-bye to you.

Lady Maisie. Didn't you? And whose fault was that?

Capt. Thick. Not mine, anyhow. You were somewhere about the grounds with Mr. BLAIR.

Lady Maisie. Now you mention it, I believe I was. We hadrather an interesting conversation. Still, you might have come to look for me!

Capt. Thick. Perhaps you wouldn't have been over and above glad

to see me.

Lady Maisie. Oh, yes, I should!-When it was to say good-bye, you know! Capt. Thick. Ah! Well, I suppose I shall only be in the way if I stop here any longer now.

four times in a single day on a journey from Puebla to Vera Cruz -these are among the frequent flashes in one of the most stirring narratives that has for a long time come in my Baronite's way.

Evidently "Mars," in return for our late curiosity, has been keeping his eye on this gay little planet of ours. His experiences, published by the Parisian firm of Plon, Nourrit et Cie, are pictorially related in La Vie de Londres. Needless to remark it was our Cótés riants which struck him.

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The Baron cannot finish his notes of admiration without giving one of them, and that a big one, to Phil May's Annual. That May should appear to brighten up December fogs is nice in itself; and it is phill'd with the best of May produce. "Another thing," quoth the Baron, "about this annual by PHIL MAY is, that all mes filles can read it and see it with pleasure."

At this time of year the Baron examines the "Hardy Annuals" that are heaped upon his table. At the first examination he gives the apple to the " Pip," ie., to the The Penny Illustrated Paper, that is, as represented by it Christmas number called Christmas Cards. Charming picture, too, of The Queen of Hearts," photographed from the life "may she live long and prosper!" and the story re-latey'd by the indefatigable JOHN LATEY will delight the most insatiable story-devourer," quoth you THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

Lady Maisie. Do you? What makes you say that? Capt. Thick. Nothin'! Saw your friend. the Bard, hurryin' along the terrace with a bunch of snowdrops; he'll be here in another Lady Maisie (in unmistakable horror). GERALD, why didn't tell me before? There's only just time! [She flies to a door and opens it. Capt. Thick. But I say, you know! MAISIE, may I come too? Lady Maisie. Don't be a goose, GERALD. Of course you can, if you like. [She disappears in the Conservatory. Capt. Thick (to himself). Can't quite make this out, but I'm no end glad I came back! He follows quickly.

Unders hell (entering). I hoped I should find her here. (He looks round.) Her mother's gone that's something! I daresay Lady MAISIE will come in presently. (He sits down, and re-arranges his snowdrops.) It will be sweet to see her face light up when I offer her these as a symbol of the new and closer sympathy between us! (He hears the sound of drapery behind him.) Ah, already! (Rising, and presenting his flowers with downcast eyes.) I-I have ventured to gather these-for you. (He raises his eyes.) Miss SPELWANE!

Miss Spelwane (taking them graciously). How very sweet of you, Mr. BLAIR. Are they really for me?

Und. (concealing his disappointment). Oh-er-yes. If you will give me the pleasure of accepting them.

Miss Spelw. I feel immensely proud. I was so afraid you must have thought I was rather cross to you last night. I didn't mean to be. I was feeling a little overdone, that was all. But you have chosen a charming way of letting me see that I am forgiven. (To herself.) It's really too touching. He certainly is a great improvement on the other wretch!

Und. (dolefully). I-I had no such intention, I assure you. To himself.) I hope to goodness Lady MAISIE won't come in before I can get rid of this girl. I seem fated to be misunderstood here! linder (To be concluded.)

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

A Strange Career is the title of a book recently issued by BLACKWOOD, and it sets forth the life and adventures of JOHN GLADWYN JEBB. Mr. RIDER HAGGARD supplies an introduction, in which he testifies touching Mr. JEBB that of "all friends he was the gentlest and truest, of all men the most trustful." At first reading this testimony is almost necessary, for so wild were Mr. JEBB's adventures in Mexico, so imminent his frequent peril, and so miraculons his inevitable escape, that one seems to be reading a work by Mr. LOUIS STEVENSON, or the author of She. In merit of graphic power and style the work need not shrink from comparison even with these masters of the art. It purports to be written by Mr. JEBB's widow, but as the lady did not become his wife till his strange career had several times been nearly brought to an abrupt close, Mr. JEBB must have been as effective with his pen as he was with his gun. The picture of the eclipse of the sun seen from one

IMPROVED AND IMPROVING DIALOGUES.
(Arranged on the strictest Lines of Truth.)

At Mrs. SOMEBODY'S on "At Home" Day.

Mrs. Somebody. Well, I am pleased you have come at last, as I wanted you to notice that, although you have a slightly better address, my drawing-room is far larger than your own.

Mrs. Caller. You are most kind to say so; and I may add that we should not have dreamed to come to this out-of-the-way part of the world had we not wished to purchase some cheap carpets in the neighbourhood.

Miss Caller. I suppose your extremely plain daughter ARAMINTA is away from home; she seldom contrives to hit it off with her mother. Mrs. Somebody. You have guessed rightly; but I may say that she is staying at Lady DASHAWAY's place in the country. I mention the fact casually, although I am glad to get in a title somehow in the course of my conversation.

Mrs Caller. If you are obliging enough to give me the opportunity, I will get in a dozen persons with handles to their names. You will pardon the vulgarity?

Mrs. Somebody. Most certainly, as knowing that your father was a bootmaker in a large way, and your mother the daughter of a milliner, nothing else could be reasonably expected.

Mrs. Caller. Aware that you may know something of my immediate ancestry, I will leave no stone unturned to find an opening for some reference to my uncle the curate.

Miss Caller. Being glad to add on every conceivable occasion to the list of my partners at any promiscuous charity ball that I may patronise with my presence, I will ask after your eldest unmarried son?

Mrs. Somebody. I thank you, my dear child, but as I intend him to look rather higher than yourself for a matrimonial alliance, I will meet your politic inquiry with a pailful of polite cold water.

Mrs. Caller. Having now consumed the regulation cup of cold weak tea and section of luke-warm muffin, I will say good-bye, and take my departure. But before leaving I will make special reference to my brougham.

Miss Caller. And I will add my adieur, after giving a good long look at your hair, which seems to require attention at the roots.

Mrs. Somebody. I will warmly speed your parting, reflecting the while, as a sop to my wounded feelings, that you are both looking dreadfully old, and that your conveyance is merely a hired brougham No doubt your stay would have been longer if the charge per h ur had been what your vulgarian of a husband and father (who, thank goodness, has not called) would term easier."

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She plaintively-to famous Rugby half-back)." WOULD IT GET YOU VERY MUCH OUT OF PRACTICE IF WE WERE TO DANCE

"SHAKY!"

The Mc Rosebery oquiturt:

"THE Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside" syne

(Which ROBBIE BURNS in days lang
descry'd)
Attend me noo

Lo the Auld Brig uprears Its shaky timbers on its sheep-shank piers! Wull I win owre in safety? Losh! I feel Like Tam o' Shanter after that witch-reel. Fays, spunkies, kelpies seem to throng the air; Swift as the gos drives on the wheeling hare They drive on me. like vera deils. Lang rains Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains; The "flowing tide" beneath me brawls like Coil,

But the wrang gait its billows brim an' boil. Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes,

In mony a torrent down the snaw-broo rowes.
If down ye 'll hurl, deil nor ye never rise,
But dash the gumlie jaups up to the skies.
A lesson sadly teaching to your cost
That the Brig (g)-builders' Liberal arts seem
lost.

Wad I were owre! Sin' Forfarshire went wrang.

And our old cause gat sic an unco bang,
My speerits sink and groan in deep vexation,
To see sic melancholy alteration.
Conceited gowks, puff'd up wi' windy pride,
Still swell and swagger of the flowing tide.
Flowing-but whither? All their fads and
havers,

Their whigmaleeries and their olish maclavers
Won't change those stubborn "chiels that
winna ding."
Scotland the good auld songs was wont to
sing

SOCKFR' A LITTLE?"

In a' but universal unison;

But noo the janglin' seems to hae begun
Even ayont the Tweed. What fa' from grace
Hath late begat a base degenerate race?
Nae longer phalanxed Rads, their party's
glory!
[Tory.
Your tartan'd Scot comes forth a true-blue
Nae longer thrifty citizens, an' douce,
Vote WULLIE's lads to the great Council-
House,

Owre Liberty an' Law to stan' stout sentry,
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless gentry,
The herry ment and ruin o' the country,
Win owre their votes, and Scotia aid affords
To that sad gilded cell, the House o' Lords!

Weel, weel! wi' Time we 'll have to warstle lang,

Be toughly doure, e'en although a' gae wrang; Stands Scotland where she did? That maun be tried. [tide,

This mony a year thou'st stood the flood and Auld Brig(g); and though wi' Forfar sair forfairn,

My hap I here must tent and soon shall lairn.
I ken the noo, no much aboot the matter,
But twa-three footsteps will inform me better.
Shaky! My fears frae friend an' foe I'll cover,
But, like puir TAM, I wad I were weel owre!

a

WAIF AND STRAY.-A very touching incident was recently recorded in the Times. It appears that news was received from the astronomical station at Kiel to the effect that " very faint comet had been discovered by Mr. EDWARD SMITH. It was moving slowly towards the east." Wounded it may be by a shooting star, and "moving," perhaps crawling, to finish its existence in the east. Was ever heard a more moving tale than this of the crawling comet! Alas! Ere now it may be ... but the subject is too pathetic for words.

THE HOUSE-AGENT'S DREAM.

46

THE dreary fog envelopes all the street,
The dingy chambers seem more dingy still,-
To advertise them as a charming suite"
Would tax e'en my imaginative skill!-
But when I feel dejected, sad, or ill,
In swift imagination I can fly

To that sweet residence which some day will A home to PHYLLIS and myself supply, When fortune, long-delayed, shall join us by-and-by.

"Delightful scenery" the spot surrounds Where that "palatial edifice" will stand, Secluded pleasantly in "park-like grounds," (Which means an acre of neglected land,) Shooting and hunting will be" near at hand," (Provided you interpret rightly "near.") The bracing climate, too, is simply grandIts title to the epithet is clear, [phere! Compared, at least, with this appalling atmos

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"Reception halls" there certainly will be, "Elegant boudoirs," too, where we shall sit And entertain acquaintances with tea, A "library"-I doubt my using it, But every mansion has one, you 'll admitStabling that's "excellent," but not too big, (A cupboard for my bicycle, to wit,) "Shelter for stock". -a solitary pigAnd spacious flower-beds"--which I shall have to dig!

So, PHYLLIS, from all murmuring refrain, Nor let the thought of poverty annoy, Although you view a "villa " with disdain, And sigh for riches as your chiefest joy, While monetary pleasures quickly cloy, "Sweet are the uses of advertisement,' The magic of my calling I employ, And lo! a home that might a prince content, Though fifty pounds a year may pay its modest rent!

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THE MCROSEBERY. "EH-BUT I'D LIKE FINE TO BE WELL OVER THIS BRIGG'!"

[Brigg polling day, Friday, December 7.]

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